


Greatest Bliss

by Faith in the Fallen (Iturbide)



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Foreplay, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Sex, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Faith%20in%20the%20Fallen
Summary: More than than a year after Robin gave his life to ensure Grima's ultimate defeat, Chrom still refuses to give up the search for him.  When a glowing gateway transports him to a world full of legendary heroes -- among them the tactician he's sought so long -- he can hardly believe it's real...but the reunion soothes them both, reforging bonds strong enough to defy fate into something stronger still.





	Greatest Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> I set out intending to write smut and wound up with this 
> 
> Story of my life
> 
> In the continuing saga of [my Heroes headcanons going wild](https://iturbide.tumblr.com/post/172159884011/i-did-a-thing-and-im-really-proud-of-it-so-here), the Branded King banner ended up inspiring a lot of really powerful images and ideas. This is what came of it. 
> 
> Please please please read the tags this may have my usual amount of plot but it's also extremely NSFW so _you have been warned_

Chrom still wasn’t entirely sure whether any of this was real. It seemed too much like a dream, this strange place on the other side of a glowing gateway, filled with legendary figures from the stories he’d known as a child...he found himself holding his breath at times, afraid that the world around him would dissolve into darkness if he dared to inhale, and he would find himself once more in his bedroom, roused by the church bells ringing outside the palace, and utterly alone. 

He wasn’t sure he could endure that. Not again. Not after what this vision had given him. 

Glancing at the man by his side, he found Robin beaming at him, and his heart stumbled in his chest, taking his breath with it. But the dream did not fade: the tactician remained, close enough to touch, his hair still unkempt, his eyes still scattered with flecks of gold, and the prince worried he might weep again as he stared at that smile that had only ever been for him. 

“It’s getting rather late,” Robin remarked, turning his attention to the girl across the table from them. “The Commander of the Order is rather strict about library visits, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to wait for tomorrow to explore there.”

“Awww, but I wanted a book to take with me,” Morgan protested. “You know I like to read a little before bed…”

“I know,” the tactician chuckled, hefting the largest tome from the bench beside him and passing it to his daughter. “I actually visited earlier today, before you arrived. I think you might like this one -- just don’t tell me what happens, I want to read it myself when you’re finished.” 

Morgan’s face lit up as she accepted the book, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. Robin’s soft smile warmed as he reached across the table, smoothing his daughter’s hair in a familiar, comforting gesture.

“Father, would you mind if I showed Morgan around a bit more?” Lucina asked. “I know it’s getting late, but I wanted to introduce her to a few other Heroes…”

“That’s fine. I’d imagine we’ll finish off the tour tomorrow?” he ventured, glancing to Robin. 

The tactician nodded agreeably, rising from his place at the dinner table and gathering the rest of his books. “That seems like the best idea. We can start fresh in the morning, show you the Training Tower, the Arena…Lucina, could you show Morgan her room when you’re done?”

“Of course,” the princess smiled, standing and gesturing for Morgan to join her as she moved down the bench toward a man Chrom would _swear_ was the king of Altea. Gods, this place couldn’t be real…

“Do you want to see your room?”

The prince started, looking up at Robin and feeling his breath hitch when he saw that smile waiting for him. He could only nod mutely, taking to his feet and following after the tactician as he approached the red-headed Commander of the Order; they shared a few brief words that meant nothing to Chrom before Robin made his way through the halls, up two curving flights of stairs, and down a long passage lined with doors, pausing outside one near the end of the corridor. “Is this it?” he asked. 

“Actually, this is my room,” the tactician chuckled. “I wanted to drop my books off, if you don’t mind…”

“Of course not,” the prince murmured. Robin pushed the heavy door open with ease, crossing the lamplit room to deposit the tomes by his bedside…

...and Chrom followed, looking around the unfamiliar space with a curious sort of wonder. “Are all the rooms like this?” he asked. It was larger than he’d expected: smaller than his apartments in Ylisstol Castle, but far larger than the little room Robin had taken for his own in that same palace. A small table sat before the low couch occupying one wall, while a plush chair with accompanying ottoman sat further to the side, an unlit candle resting on the stand beside it. The opposite wall featured a desk piled with books and parchment (and that, at least, seemed very familiar, knowing the tactician); the nightstand on the far side of the room looked little better, with a pitcher and cup competing against parchment and books haphazardly piled wherever Robin could find room before trying to sleep.

“Well, not exactly like it,” the tactician replied, drawing the curtains over the window overlooking the palace grounds. “Most of the Heroes arrange it to their tastes: some prefer the bed closer to the door and the sitting area in the sun under the window...the furniture is all rather standard, of course, though the Order is open to justifiable requests -- hence the desk.”

“...that’s nice of them,” the prince murmured, taking a closer look around as he rolled his shoulders--

“Are you alright?”

Chrom started, turning to find Robin less than a pace away, a worried frown creasing his expression. “I’m fine,” the prince assured him. “I’ve just been in this armor all day. I get a little sore after a while.”

“We can’t have that,” the tactician murmured, kneeling down to examine Chrom’s greaves. “This new apparel is quite nice, by the way. Very heroic -- I hardly recognized you with two sleeves.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Chrom snorted, a grin twitching at his face even still as Robin removed one poleyn, then the other, before unfastening the shin guards and removing them with the sabatons. The triumphant little smile on his face as he set them aside made the prince’s heart swell; reaching up, the tactician carefully worked loose the hooks and clasps holding the cuisses in place at his hips...but when they did not come free with a gentle tug, he frowned thoughtfully, exploring the crossed belts that held them and Chrom’s sword in place. “It’s always a challenge, figuring out how to get you out of armor,” Robin muttered, teasing loose the buckles keeping them secure. 

“Well, you know me: I always strive to give my tactician a new mystery to solve,” the prince chuckled. The grin Robin shot toward him stole his breath: teasing, sharp, but no less sweet for its playful edge. Agreeably holding his arms up, he allowed the tactician to remove his couters and gauntlets...but as Robin unbuckled the twin spaulders and unfastened the prince’s cape, a wave of nostalgia crashed over him, making his eyes burn anew. They had done this before. In another lifetime, this had been habitual, _ritual_ : Robin’s clever fingers teasing loose the buckles and clasps, his gentle hands lifting Chrom’s burdens and casting them aside...his all-encompassing warmth soothing sore body, aching heart, and weary mind--

“Almost done,” the tactician murmured, examining the chest plates, and the prince suddenly hated that armor, for as much as it protected him from the blows of enemies it equally prevented Robin’s touch from reaching him. He could only watch as the tactician’s fingertips ran along the seams in the plate, finally locating the well-concealed pins and working them loose before lifting the cuirass free and setting it aside. 

“Another challenge conquered,” Chrom said. “But I’d expect nothing less fro--”

The rest of his words were lost as Robin kissed him. It took every ounce of self-control the prince could muster not to crush the man to his chest as he returned that touch; instead he curled his arms around the tactician, holding him close and warm against him. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” Robin murmured as he withdrew a narrow inch, close enough that Chrom could still feel his breath. 

“Why didn’t you?” the prince asked, tightening his grip as the tactician leaned against him. 

“I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop,” Robin laughed. “And then nothing would have gotten done at all, and we might have risked distressing some of the more impressionable members of the Order…”

And there it was again, that smile he had only ever worn for the prince, and Chrom felt his chest tighten, crushed by the sheer force of his love for the man in his arms. Leaning close, he pressed his own kiss to the tactician’s mouth, feeling the curve of Robin’s lips beneath his own and wanting nothing more than to make it his own. “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the tactician’s. 

“And I’ve missed you,” Robin breathed. The prince felt each word brushed across his lips before the tactician’s arms coiled around shoulders, pulling him into another deep kiss...and the prince clung tight to the lean body pressed against him, suddenly afraid that if he let go again Robin would once more dissolve into nothing more than mist and memory. 

Only when his head began to swim from lack of air did he break away, burying his face in the tactician’s shoulder while Robin’s fingers pieced through his hair. “You’re really here, aren’t you?” Chrom whispered. “It’s really you?”

“To the best of my knowledge,” he chuckled. The prince only tightened his grip, feeling the tactician’s breath warm his scalp. “It’s me. I’m here. I promise. Let’s sit down, come on…”

Chrom sniffed thickly into the soft hood, suddenly aware that he was weeping again and unable to stop the tears. Robin took his hand (and even through the gloves, his touch was so warm), guiding the prince over to the bed and coaxing him to sit on the edge. “What is this place?” Chrom asked, carefully lacing his fingers with the tactician’s and feeling that familiar, reassuring squeeze that stilled his shaking (and it had always been that way, hadn’t it, ever since Emmeryn’s death: all he had to do was take Robin’s hand and feel that comforting pressure on his fingers to believe that he could be strong, that he could hold on, that he could face whatever challenges might await him). 

“I’m still not sure myself,” the tactician murmured. “As far as I can tell...it’s a place where threads of time and fate, history and possibility, eddy and mingle with one another. Everything seems to connect here. I’ve...I’ve met the Hero King Marth himself, and as I recall he’s your ancestor from some two thousand years ago, but here you are beside me.” Robin’s hand tightened on his again, and the prince gently covered the tactician’s fingers with his palm. “I’ve met other yous, too. Some called from festivals, one from another branch of fate entirely, but...I knew, when I saw them, that they weren’t _you._ They looked...they looked like you, but they’d led different lives, they had different loves, they...they looked at me and saw a stranger. And as much as I wanted to go back, I wasn’t sure how to return, or even if I could, after what happened...so I stayed here, and did what was asked of me: the tactician here is inexperienced, they hail from a strange world unlike anything I’ve heard tell of, they’ve never experienced war like this...s-so…”

Chrom leaned his shoulder against Robin’s, tilting his head to tuck his nose into the tactician’s disheveled hair. He still smelled the same, like old books and lightning, underlain by an earthy warmth that never failed to put his mind and heart at ease. “Why did you have to do it?” he whispered. “I could have sealed Grima away, you know I could have…”

“I know,” Robin murmured. “But I had to. I knew it had to be me. I neverwanted you, or anyone else, to _ever_ have to face the fell dragon again, to fear the return of that nightmare. I never...I-I didn’t want to hurt you, Chrom, but I couldn’t just let you put a bandage on something I knew I could cure.”

“...it felt like dying, watching you disappear.” His hands began to shake again, but even when the tactician’s fingers squeezed his, the tremors did not abate. “I’ve taken wounds before -- you were there, the one in Valm, remember?” He still bore the scar, and most of his hazy memories from those few weeks spent recovering under Lissa’s watch involved lying with his head in Robin’s lap, listening to the tactician read aloud to him, soothed more by those deft fingers sifting through his hair than by any of his sister’s spells. “That...that was a pinprick. Barely a scratch. The tighter I held on, the more you seemed to fade, and when...when you vanished...it was like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.” The empty, aching void had been unbearable, forgotten only in sleep -- and waking in that great bed, alone and cold, had only made the pain that much worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispered, his own hand shaking in Chrom’s. “Gods, Chrom, you know I didn’t…”

“I know,” the prince murmured. “You were...you were saving everyone. The way you always did. On the battlefield as the Shepherds’ tactician, in the halidom as my advisor...that’s always what you were doing. And I knew you’d never forgive me if I let things fall to ruin. So I kept on, because...I knew that’s what you’d have wanted. I managed the halidom, I took care of Lucina and Morgan...but I never stopped searching. Every moment I could spare, I was looking for you -- Naga swore you could return if your bonds were strong, and I _knew_ ours were powerful enough to defy fate itself -- so I knew...I knew I’d find you again. Somehow. Somewhere. And when that light appeared, all I could think of was how Lucina described the gateway Naga had opened for her so that she could return to the past. And on the other side...I found you.”

The tactician smiled, wiping his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. Chrom reached out, wrapping his arm around Robin’s waist and pulling him closer, kissing the glistening marks winding down his cheek and tasting fresh salt on his lips. “Everything’s alright now. Isn’t it?” the prince asked. “I don’t...I’m not going to lose you again. Am I?”

“No,” the tactician chuckled. “Even when Heroes fall here, they can be restored. I won’t leave your side again, so long as you have need of me...so long as you want me--”

Robin’s voice stumbled into silence as the prince cupped his cheek, turning the tactician’s head toward him. “There’s no one else I want by my side,” he insisted. “There never has been.” They’d discussed it at length after the war with the Mad King ended, weighing the pros and cons of Chrom’s every potential suitor...and in the end, the prince had been able to make no decision, for the only person who had ever made him feel complete was the man at his right. 

The corners of Robin’s lips twitched up in a weak, worried grin. “A part of me was afraid that...things would change,” he confessed. “That you might have found another, after what happened -- Lucina’s mother, perhaps, or…”

“Who else would there be, besides you?” the prince asked, gently drying the tactician’s eyes with the ball of his thumb. “I love you, Robin. I never stopped loving you. From the moment you disappeared, all I could think of was getting you back. And now...I didn’t even think about whether things might be different when I found you, but here you are, and you haven’t changed at all. Still worrying over everything -- even things that don’t make sense.”

Chrom’s laughter at last brought a smile back to the tactician’s face. Tilting his head, Robin pressed a kiss into the palm cupping his cheek, and the prince beamed as he gathered the tactician into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” Robin whispered, ducking his head against the curve of Chrom’s shoulder.

“Not half as much as I’ve missed you,” the prince replied, his words muted as he pressed his lips to the tactician’s temple. Holding him like this, feeling that lean body pressed against his own...gods, for the first time in so long, Chrom felt _whole_ again, the cold burned away in the face of Robin’s warmth. As the tactician lifted his head, the prince snared him in another kiss, running his fingers through that ever-unruly hair and reveling in the smile that spread beneath his lips…

Robin settled against him, and a soft sound rumbled through Chrom’s chest as the tactician’s hips shifted against his own. Robin broke away, laughing at the prince’s wordless protest even as he straddled Chrom’s lap, his arms coiling around the prince’s shoulders as he touched their foreheads together. “Help me with my coat?” he murmured. 

Chrom grinned, reaching up to undo the clasp at Robin’s throat before gently pushing the robe back from his shoulders. Rather than letting it fall, he held it as the tactician removed one arm at a time, gathering it up and folding it across the headboard beside them -- which earned him a fond, grateful smile that warmed his heart anew. “You remembered.”

“How could I not?” the prince chuckled, working loose the belts securing Robin’s tassets and letting those fall forgotten to the floor as the tactician discarded Chrom’s ascot. It had never been simply a coat for him: it was armor, protection, _safety,_ something vital even without the memories to tell him why. He’d seen Robin grow restless and agitated when it was out of easy reach, frantic when he couldn’t find it at all...and he wanted nothing to mar this moment. Running his hands down the tactician’s sides, the prince teased his fingers under the band of his trousers, grinning at the sweet laugh that rang in his ears before Robin took to his feet, pulling Chrom up with him. He hummed softly while he cast off the prince’s surcoat, submitting agreeably as Chrom removed the tactician’s stiffly woven collar and chest guard.

They settled for a moment, removing boots and trousers (and the prince felt his blood stir as Robin’s smallclothes joined the rest of their discarded garments). “May I?” he murmured, tugging at the hem of the tactician’s shirt as he straightened. 

“If you want,” Robin chuckled. Hooking his thumbs under the knit fabric, Chrom eased it up over the tactician’s head, letting it fall to the floor...and letting his hands drift over Robin’s narrow chest, tracing the scars that he remembered and caressing the new marks that had appeared. There were stories here, written on his skin. And someday, gods willing, he would hear them. But there was no need to rush. And there were so many things he wanted more than words. 

Dragging the shirt over his own head, the prince wrapped his arms around the tactician’s waist, pressing a kiss to his collarbone as he pulled them both down onto the bedclothes. Gods, he had missed this: the heat of Robin’s skin against his own, the tingling excitement trailing in the wake of those deft fingers, the pressure of the tactician’s thighs squeezing tight against his hips. He’d _ached_ for this for _so long,_ for this closeness, this touch...reaching down, he curled his fingers around Robin’s length (only half hard yet, but he’d always been slow to warm, and it was just one more thing Chrom loved about him, that _certainty_ that _he_ was the one bringing the tactician such pleasure, sharing that ecstasy in equal measure as Robin gave it--)

“E-easy,” the tactician gasped -- and the prince pulled back without hesitation, sifting his fingers into Robin’s soft hair and touching their foreheads together in the half-dark. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

The tactician smiled unsteadily, slipping his hands over Chrom’s shoulders and clasping them at his nape. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “But it’s been a long time for me -- not since...before Grima.”

The reminder made the prince’s throat tighten. It had been so obvious, when he looked back on it in the days after the battle. That tenderness, that intimacy, tinged with something he’d been unable to put into words: it had been part of Robin’s farewell, knowing that it would be the last night they had together...

His heart ached at the memory. Gathering the tactician close against his chest, Chrom pressed his face into the curve of Robin’s neck, letting the heat of his skin and the scent of his sweat and the solidity of his body reassure his mind. “Do you want to stop?”

Robin laughed softly against his ear, tightening one arm around the prince’s shoulders and piecing his fingers through Chrom’s hair. “If I did, I would have said so,” he murmured patiently. “Just take care, Love.”

The prince’s lips curved unbidden into a smile at that endearment, his heart glowing as the word echoed in his ears. Reaching down again, he stroked the tactician’s cock with the tips of his fingers, feeling it twitch and stiffen as Robin ducked his head against Chrom’s shoulder. Another touch, and the tactician made a soft sound, a barely stifled murmur that stoked the heat burning at the prince’s core. Pressing a kiss to Robin’s throat, Chrom rocked his hips against the tactician’s, his breath huffing out as their lengths rubbed together -- just a touch, just a taste of things to come, and he _burned_ for more…

“I’m hoping you haven’t wasted all your oil on lamps,” the prince chuckled, feeling the tactician shiver as he trailed kisses down the narrow breast. 

“B-bottom drawer,” Robin mumbled, biting his lip as Chrom teased at one of his nipples. Sitting up (and giving the head of the tactician’s cock a gentle squeeze, grinning as Robin squirmed among the sheets), the prince leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer…

He paused, removing a small parcel of lambskins bundled with soft rolls of cloth. “I thought you said you hadn’t done this in a while,” he remarked. 

The tactician made a questioning sound, glancing over as Chrom held one up. “Oh, every room has them. The Summoner’s idea. They believe strongly in...gods, what did they call it…’safe sex practices’? They don’t mind Heroes having a bit of fun, but no one wants to worry about pregnancies in the middle of a war, so…” He shrugged, a charming little smile brightening his flushed face -- and the prince couldn’t help but grin, falling back across the mattress to pull Robin into a deep, warm kiss.

“How much would you feel up for?” he asked, his voice rumbling deep in his chest (and the tactician shivered as Chrom’s lips grazed his collarbone, sending another little thrill coursing through him). 

“ _Everything,_ ” Robin beamed, the gold sparks in his eyes flashing as the corners crinkled with his smile. 

That look alone stole his breath. Bundling Robin up against him, the prince peppered kisses across his breast and shoulders, lavishing affection over every inch of skin he could reach as that playful laughter stirred his blood. When he finally sat up, Chrom pulled the tactician with him...and for another moment, the prince simply held him. Just to feel him there, real and warm, fitting perfectly against Chrom’s chest the way he always had before and making the agony of that year alone fade into nothing more than a nightmare, lost before the morning sun.

“I love you, Robin,” he whispered.

“And I love you, Chrom,” the tactician murmured, each word caressed against the prince’s lips a heartbeat before a kiss silenced any other words they might speak.

Breaking grudgingly away only as his head began to swim, the prince reached back into the drawer, feeling blindly about until his fingers at last lit on a small pot of oil. Half full, judging by its heft when he lifted it out and set it atop the sideboard. While Robin snuggled in to watch (and he had always loved that feeling of the tactician’s full attention on him; Robin’s undivided focus was a gift in itself, and he had so often slowed his pace just to revel in it), Chrom slid the lambskin down his length, securing it in place with the narrow ribbon threaded through its end before tipping a generous amount of oil into his palm and across his cock. And when he opened his mouth to call the tactician closer, Robin settled preemptively in the prince's lap, his length rubbing lightly against Chrom’s with every slight shift of his hips, and he feared he might go mad from the aching need for _more._

The first kiss was gentle, even still, breaths mingling as the prince’s slick fingers trailed up Robin's thigh. He probed, feeling the tactician shudder against him as his hands tested and teased...and as the tip of his finger eased inside, Robin folded his arms around Chrom's shoulders, muffling a faint whine against the prince’s mouth. The second kiss was more fevered, Chrom’s tongue darting against the tactician’s lips, and Robin met him in kind, his unsteady gasps fraying further as the prince teased another digit inside.

“You alright?” Chrom asked, running one hand up the length of the tactician’s thigh. He was settling, slowly, with every crook of the prince’s knuckles inside him, the movements becoming easier with each repetition. Robin’s only reply was a soft sound, a whine that snared in the back of his throat when Chrom’s fingers shifted. “I need more than that,” he chuckled. 

“Y-yes,” the tactician huffed. “I’m fine, I...” His voice faded into another contented murmur, his hips beginning to match the prince’s rhythm as he pressed their foreheads together. 

“Good.” Drawing back, Chrom cast about for a moment before taking one of the cloths he’d found bundled with the lambskins and wiping his hands clean. Easing them both back down into the bedclothes, the prince briefly folded himself around Robin, running his fingers through the tactician’s pale hair as deft hands sifted through his own locks. “Tell me if I need to stop. Alright?”

“I remember,” Robin chuckled, his knees tucking neatly against Chrom’s sides as the prince maneuvered them into a comfortable position. He bit his lip when Chrom’s cock rubbed against him, the faintest trace of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth...and as the prince entered him, the tactician’s body tensed, his hands twisting in the sheets as Chrom curled over him.

It took a few moments before Robin relaxed, his breath coming out in a slow sigh. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” the prince murmured, hearing the slight strain in his own voice as he pressed deeper, the tension briefly mounting again before giving way.

“It always feels stra-ange at first,” the tactician mumbled. Rocking back slightly, Chrom lifted one hand to touch Robin’s cheek, smiling as the tactician’s fingers curled around his own. “Keep going,” he added, pressing a kiss into the prince's palm.

Resting his free hand on Robin’s hip, Chrom pulled him into the first careful thrust, a sharp flare of pleasure crackling through him as the tactician gasped and twitched beneath him. Close. Another subtle shift, his arm wrapping tight around Robin’s thigh before he thrust again -- and the tactician arched, a low moan ringing on the air between them. 

The prince beamed, a breathless laugh joining the echoes of that sweet sound. Robin had always been quiet, in combat and at court, publicly and privately…but _this_ was the one thing he could never hold back. It had startled them both the first time: mortified, the tactician had buried his face in the nearest pillow; and terrified that he'd hurt the tactician, Chrom had wrapped himself around Robin, pillow and all. But he knew, now, the truth of that cry...and gods, it set his heart ablaze, hearing it again. The tactician's fingers gripped his hand tight, finespun tremors coursing through his narrow frame with every breath before the prince thrust again, deeper, dissolving his gasp into another heady moan. 

A low groan rumbled through Chrom’s chest, a sound more felt than heard as he curled his fingers around Robin’s length, stroking him in time with their movements. The tension wound tighter, every thrust lancing pleasure through his core, every gasp feeding the fire in his blood, every twitch and throb and cry from the tactician only making him ache for more, and his heart began to race as the pressure slowly neared the breaking point--

Robin’s breath snared in his throat, his body tensing. And with the next thrust, Chrom felt him come, his back arching as a warm, sweet moan rose from his throat. The prince grinned as the narrow frame sagged back into the coverlet: he had said it had been a while, and his endurance had always been something to take care with...but once he roused, Chrom had no doubt the tactician would be open to some gentler play to finish off the evening. Easing back--

“W-wait.”

The prince paused as Robin’s shaky hand gripped his arm, his legs hooking behind Chrom to keep him from pulling out. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded.

“But you just--”

“I know,” he breathed, a smile breaking across his flushed face. “But you didn’t. And I wa-ant you to keep going. ...I want to feel it, when you come.”

The prince felt his heart stumble, a soft swell of warmth stealing his breath with it. Curling close over the tactician, Chrom nestled his head in the curve of Robin’s neck and shoulder, feeling the tremors still rippling through him with each shared breath. The tactician’s arms wrapped around him, one hand drifting across his shoulder blade while the other slipped into his hair...and as the prince thrust into him again, Robin arched against his chest, his fingers tensing as another sharp, sweet sound rang through his ears. 

The prince chuckled, snaring the tactician mouth with the next slow thrust of his hips. Robin clung tight to him, rocking into the motions, his fevered kisses laced with breathless moans that made Chrom’s pulse quicken, pounding in his ears but blissfully unable to drown out those impassioned cries. Gods, he was close, the pressure mounting and drawing all his muscles taut, and the tactician’s every twitch and tremor shot pleasure through his core to ripple along his skin -- he couldn’t take much more, but everything in him _ached_ for this to last, another breath, another heartbeat…

Another deep thrust, and at last the tension snapped and unravelled, his limbs curling tight around Robin as a heady groan tore loose from his chest. He did not move for a long time, drinking in the cool air as the stars painted behind his eyes at last began to dim -- and only then did he try to rouse, slowly, easing out of the tactician (and shivering anew at the warm murmur that hummed on his lips) before sprawling out, half across the mattress and half across the man nestled within the sheets. 

They did not speak for another few moments. Robin’s trembling fingers wove back into his hair, familiar and soothing, and the prince curled closer against him, gathering him up again--

Chrom paused as something entirely unexpected rubbed against his stomach. He blinked, squinting through the poor light and reaching down to touch the tactician’s stiff cock. “...that’s different,” he murmured. Gods, it _had_ been an age: as often as they’d shared a bed, he’d never seen Robin recover so quickly…

“I-it’ll fade,” the tactician mumbled, shivering as the prince’s fingers curled around his length.

“What? No. Don’t be silly,” Chrom scoffed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“It’s fine,” Robin insisted. “Don’t worry, it’s…”

He quieted as the prince smoothed the hair away from his sweat-soaked brow, a faint grin twitching at his lips as Chrom’s fingers worked idly at the most stubborn strands. “It’s been a year -- more -- since I could hold you. Touch you. ...taste you,” he added, ducking to kiss the tactician’s breast. “Please. Let me.”

Robin’s flushed face reddened still further in the half-dark. But he settled shyly back, nestling deeper into the blankets and vainly trying to scrub the color from his cheeks with the heel of one hand. “...if that’s what you want,” he conceded, “then...I’d be glad for it.”

His tiny smile sent another faint ripple of warmth coursing through Chrom’s chest. A fond grin wandered across his face as he settled close, pursing his lips against the tip of Robin’s length and letting his tongue circle and stroke the head (and he could taste the bitter oil when he did, mixed with the last traces of the tactician’s first climax and the first hint of the next). Casting a glance toward Robin’s face, he saw the dark eyes watching him with undisguised affection...and as the prince’s mouth wrapped around his cock and eased slowly down, he heard the tactician’s breath fray into a soft gasp, his hips twitching unbidden into the motions. 

He moved slowly, tongue stroking and circling each time he paused. Robin stayed quiet now, no more than a hum betraying his enjoyment (though his fingers did find their way back into Chrom's hair, tensing and curling tellingly in response to the prince's touch), his soft smile gradually giving way to something warm and passionate the closer he came to release.

Running his palm up the tactician's thigh, Chrom gently teased a finger back inside, probing lightly until Robin's breath hitched -- and then he pressed, drawing an unsteady murmur from the tactician’s lips. Crooking his knuckles, he pushed again, feeling Robin’s cock twitch and throb against his lips. Again, and the tactician arched and whined, seeping as he tensed under the prince's touch…

He came with a shuddering moan as Chrom’s mouth slid down his length, the fingers in his hair giving a sharp tug as the tactician’s body curled. And then he sagged back into the blankets, a senseless sprawl of limbs and tousled hair all shining in the sputtering lamplight. 

Gods, he loved that sight. 

Picking himself up, the prince discarded the lambskin and cleaned his hands, wiping his lips with the ball of his thumb...and when he glanced over and saw Robin peeking up at him, he grinned, licking his fingertip just to see if he could make that flushed face blush any deeper (which, to his delight, he apparently could). Considering briefly whether to refill the lamp, he finally decided against, turning his attention instead to cleaning the both of them up and stealing the occasional kiss as the tactician roused just enough to sit up and lean into the prince's ministrations.

“Well? Was that everything you wanted?” Chrom murmured, pouring a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and pressing it into Robin's hands. 

“More than I could have asked for,” the tactician breathed, turning the glass a few times before obediently taking a drink. “...more than I’d dreamed, even.”

Grinning at that praise, the prince took the half-full cup Robin offered, drinking the rest himself and setting it in one of the few empty places he could find on the sideboard moments before the lamp’s flame at last gave up and plunged the room into total darkness. “...I don't think you're in any condition to be showing me around more,” Chrom remarked, bundling the tactician up and falling back against the pillows with Robin tucked against his chest. “So I hope you don't mind company for the night.”

Silence met his teasing. Frowning, the prince lifted a hand to smooth the pale, disheveled hair, a nervous prickle of doubt winding its way down his spine. Had he said something wrong? If he had then what could it have been--

“About that,” the tactician mumbled. “Does…it have to be just tonight?”

Chrom’s throat tightened at the quiet implication. It was all he could do to manage a questioning murmur to coax Robin on. “The Order makes allowances for married couples to share rooms,” the tactician explained. “And...I know we're not…but I thought...perhaps…you might consider making this your room permanently. …with me.”

He knew no words strong enough to describe the overwhelming surge of love that swept through him at that offer. Part of him believed even Robin couldn't do it justice if he tried. Wrapping his arms tight around the tactician’s chest, the prince buried his face in those soft, unkempt locks, aware that he was crying anew and caring not at all. “Yes,” he laughed, the word muffled against Robin's brow. “ _Gods_ , yes.”

He'd believed that morning when he rose alone in his castle rooms that nothing could make him happier than finding the tactician again. But he'd been wrong: this moment, this promise, with his dearest love once more safe within his arms…he could think of no greater bliss than that. 


End file.
